


Louder Than Words

by steveelotaku



Category: Halloween (2018), Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Diary/Journal, Dying Loomis, Gen, Prequel, Ten Years Earlier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 15:49:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17870150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steveelotaku/pseuds/steveelotaku
Summary: Michael Myers is often said to be silent. Dr. Loomis knows that's anything but the case.





	Louder Than Words

Dr. Loomis’s Journal—Final Entry

October 31st, 2008

Thirty long years have passed since that horrible night. Every day I come into Smith’s Grove, well conscious that it should be my last day every day I do. I’m not getting any younger, and as I write this, the last of my youth should be drying up and rotting off, like the leaves outside.

I went to Michael’s holding cell today, as I always do. I took one look at the monster I’ve called my patient for damn near half a century, and I took a deep sigh.

“Michael,” I said. “This may well be the last day you ever see me. I’m dying. I don’t have long left in this world.”

He tilted his head, as if he didn’t totally understand what I was saying. No expression. There was no twitch of his mouth, no grunt of comprehension. Just a tilt and a flat neutral mouth.

“I’m going to beg you one small indulgence. If, by some godforsaken error, you should leave…don’t return to Haddonfield. You’ve done enough to them. Live out the rest of your days in peace, Michael. It’s not like they’ll ever forget.”

That got his attention. I swear, somewhere in those eyes was a stir of pleasure, a hint of satisfaction. Those same eyes that had been so dead when the mask came off lit up as if they were a candle in a jack o’ lantern.

“You sick old bastard…” I muttered. “You goddamned animal.”

No expression. The light in its eyes. I should say “it”, now. Not “he.” I can’t believe I almost forgot that Michael wasn’t human. He has the shape of a human, and that’s it.

The Shape.  That is what they call him. The townspeople. Some of the patients.

It is apt.

The Shape is not a man, but it has the shape of one. Beneath this formless, pale mask, it hides another formless, pale face. It never smiles. It never frowns. No tears ever fall.

“Why, Michael?” I asked, knowing full well the answer I would get. “Why?”

Those empty eyes stared back at me for the final time, an empty, relaxed expression on its face. I knew in that exact moment what Michael was saying, what The Shape was saying.

_Because I can._

I am leaving Smith’s Grove, I will not return. I intend to go die in peace—perhaps I will leave flowers for the dead one last time before I leave Haddonfield itself behind. This town has taken too much from me, and Michael has taken too much from it.

I leave Michael in the care of Dr. Sartain—may he enjoy better success than I. As for Michael’s prescriptions, you have the list. I would suggest one more item—six shots from a .500 magnum to the head, followed by immediate cremation.

I keep hearing people talking in the halls about how easy it is treating Michael. It never lasts long. Within a week, they want it to stop. They don’t want to hear him anymore.

Michael never talks, not with words.

Michael, however, speaks. He speaks constantly. And it is a language that speaks louder than words.

He said his first words as a boy when he plunged that butcher knife into his sister’s heart.

God willing he will say his final words as he burns to ash.

\--Samuel Loomis


End file.
